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…And yet I don’t think the problem’s been solved. I could supply a dozen reasons why, from the inevitable uneven weight distribution to cramped quarters dictating one side swiveled over the other, but it’s more a matter of the conflict behind it sustaining itself. After all, would a ménage à trois really sort out Ginger v. Mary Ann? Regardless of your place in the dialectic, petulant Larry David-types like me need this to justify our natures—and distinguish them from everybody else’s. Like the cup analogy, some may see one, half-full or empty, and say, I’ll have what they’re having; I ask, what kind of person would leave it that way in the first place?

[Had this story tabbed for quite some time, so I thought I’d dispense with it.]

Idea I had with the advent of high definition was for a Metroid-like old-school platform-explorer that’d take advantage of those extra pixels and make each stop an enormous cavern, requiring far more than the usual flick of the X-ray visor to find the hidden missile target. Boss fights could be insane romp-arounds. Why must the push, in even 2-D remakes, always be for denser, more detailed models the same size as the low-res sprites we were once perfectly happy with? I think this every time I watch sports on TV, too: let me occasionally see the whole World Cup field and all the players in relation to one another on it, not just the fucking corporate sponsor logos more clearly! (One thing I admire about Taiwanese TV, they sure know how to get the most out of their real estate. Their news looks like a newspaper.) Why can’t one by-product of our big-screen generation be a greater sense of perspective? Okay, next.

…Outnumbers my storage of actual junk, and here’s an example, a story I began after an outing to a state park almost 15 years ago. The Smashing Pumpkins dates it horribly, but there are some gems (“If you eat poison and die, take consolation knowing that whatever—or whoever—eats you, will, too.”), cryptic references between old friends and no idea how things would turn out for them. I could care less about Facebooking to catch up, or even Electric Dreams on DVD anymore. But really, I didn’t know where I was going with this at all. I think I meant for where I left off in fact not to have been a dream, and a sexy Chaka-ette to join the cast, cause somewhat of a stir by snuggling up with the one guy who was married back then, which who knows, might have matured the source material to predict more Lost-like drama. Update: Wiki about the second series says it’s been done, and before me, though not quite how I imagined. I prefer the concept version of a Holly Marshall return. Jungle girl shows up in cave with horny Asian guys and nothing happens? This wasn’t supposed to be real life, after all.

…While we’re on the subject of islands: uh-oh, Chongo!

Another casualty of my impending fatherhood.

Okay, maybe not such a big loss. But still.

Haven’t I mentioned “The Sound” before? The other day they played Side A of this, quite possibly my very first album, which prompted an immediate download of the beautiful first track. In a box somewhere is that cassette, DEV-O E-Z Listening in its original club format, possibly even the blanks with my air recordings of the song from The War of the Gargantuas, Debbie Harry singing “Dreamin'” on those hour-long Comedy Central Saturday Night Live reruns and the Space: 1999 theme I hushed everyone to then ended up humming along with.

(That’s because I’ve already had a post called “Lost”.) So I only just started watching the show, it being the last season, which may have been the wrong approach, secrets and back-stories all at once. It’s well-enough done, and of course I’m especially drawn to the alternate reality aspect of the “flash sideways”, but can’t get over my memory of seeing Mr. Roarke face off against Roddy McDowall as the Devil so many Saturday nights ago. Speaking of which, I rather liked the later series with Malcolm McDowell and Mädchen Amick.

I cannot believe they’re finally on DVD! Not the originals that fucked me up with their depiction of characters in varying degrees of anthropomorphism making out at the end, but the truly fucked-up Saturday morning version that used to ease my transition into the waking world. Batman history must owe something to Bat-Bat. And Ring-a-Ding the mystery-solving great dane and his team of ethnically-diverse ghost detectives, oh my dear lord. Honestly, I don’t remember cartoons making me laugh before this.